Kissing Shakespeare (34 page)

“How perceptive of you, Stephen. Not angry. Furious!” I wrapped my arms around myself and clenched them tightly.

He stopped walking and set his hands on my shoulders. “I did not abandon you, Olivia. Pray let me explain.”

“You must have known I’d worry … wonder where you’d gone, and why.”

He let go of me abruptly. “I needed time and solitude to think,” he said. His eyes held a desperate, almost pleading gaze. When I didn’t respond, he went on. “I visited my home for a few days.”

“Couldn’t you have told me before you left?”

“Indeed, I should have done. I never thought you would be forced to deal with such as this while I was gone.” I had to admit, he sounded as if he meant it. “Accept my apologies, I beg you.”

I nodded, but refused to grant him a smile.

We resumed walking and reached the tilting green. I sank down on the bench, but Stephen remained standing. Something had changed between us. He was formal and distant, and the look I’d seen in his eyes, I realized, was simply a plea for understanding. Nothing more. Whatever feelings he had for me, he’d managed to overcome them during the days he was away. That must have been what he needed to think about. I felt an ache in my throat, and I prayed to some higher authority not to let me cry.

“My sister has recovered and wishes to join me here at Hoghton Tower.”

“What? That can’t happen!”

“I managed to put her off by saying there were a number of guests in residence and she must wait until some of them leave.”

“What’s to stop your sister from coming here when this whole thing is over? Then you’ll be found out.”

“When I return home, I shall say I’m ill or injured. She will not come without me.”

“Why not?”

He looked annoyed. “How long have you been here? You should be more accustomed to our ways. Young ladies of this time do not travel unaccompanied. As my mother is unwell and my father is too busy at this time of year, there would be no one else save me.”

Something broke free inside, unfurling right up through my chest. A profound loneliness and hurt. The person I depended on for my well-being, who beyond all reason I’d fallen in love with, was treating me like some minor annoyance that had to be dealt with and put in her place. And I’d thought—hoped—he returned my feelings. More than anything, I didn’t want him to know how he’d hurt me. “It doesn’t really concern me, anyway,” I said, trying to keep the pain I was feeling out of my voice. “I’ll be gone by then.”

Without looking at me he said, “ ’Tis grown chilly out here. Let’s return to the house.”

“Fine,” I bit out. We ended up in Stephen’s chamber, where a fire burned and crackled in the grate.

“Pray be seated.” He was over by his washstand doing who knew what. I didn’t look. When he came to sit beside me, he carried two cups. “ ’Tis the wine we drank before.”

I reached for the cup and drank. The burn hit my stomach and spread, down my legs to my toes and all through my body. Perhaps it was the glow and hiss of the fire, or it might have been the wine. I wasn’t sure, but after a while I began to feel stronger. “I’ve been agonizing over whether to warn Will. What do you think?”

“Doing so would mean he and Thomas would leave immediately, and together. In that instance, the most likely outcome is that Shakespeare would join the Jesuits.”

“I agree. I also debated telling Alexander, but he’s not here. He’s off at some horse show.”

Stephen’s eyes studied my face. “It seems I owe you another apology, Olivia.”

“For what?”

“Not taking your concerns about Jennet seriously. You were right about her all along.”

“Women’s intuition.” I smiled at him, longing to see one in return. He looked so serious. “What do you think we should do?”

“The pageant is Sunday, three days hence. Let’s assume that Thomas still plans to leave immediately afterward. We must try, one final time, to persuade Will not to accompany him.”

“And if that doesn’t work, we lock him up?”

He scowled. “That would be the last resort, something we’d do if he left us no other choice. And I mean to be ready.”

“By doing what?” I rolled my eyes, which Stephen ignored.

“I shall find some sturdy rope to restrain him, if necessary. I’ll fill a flagon with ale and pack a basket of food and hide them in one of the lower chambers. If we’re forced to lock Will up, he’ll have all the usual comforts.” He grimaced. “Some, anyway. We must find blankets and warm clothing—candles, too. It is cold and dank down there.” Stephen squatted in front of the fire, as if even the thought of the lower rooms turned him cold, as it did me.

“I’ll leave all of that to you. Saturday will be our final pageant practice, and I won’t have time to help.”

He nodded. “Our plan is thus: After the pageant, we stay close to Shakespeare. If he says he’s leaving with Thomas, we shall try to convince him not to. If he insists, we shall forcibly escort him to the … lower chamber.”

I couldn’t picture myself taking part, but I didn’t object. Stephen could handle Will, if it came to that. “What about Lowry and the sheriff?”

“Before Thomas leaves we must warn him, and confide in Alexander as well. He’ll want to send a guard with Thomas, and devise a plan for the safety of Will and his family.”

“Where would Will go? Back to Stratford?”

“Nay, the sheriff would look for him there. It would be safer to conceal him at another home, at least until we know what happens to Thomas—Campion.”

I glanced up at Stephen and asked another question that had been plaguing me since the beginning. I’d been too afraid of the answer to ask. “What happens if we lose Shakespeare? If he goes off with Thomas and becomes a Jesuit. Or, worse yet, he’s arrested and executed?”

“Then I am afraid his work is lost forever.”

“But that can’t be! I know it exists, has existed, through the centuries all the way into the future.”

“Why are you such a skeptic? If there were no risk, I wouldn’t have brought you back. We would not be doing all this. We’re ensuring that Shakespeare will go on to write and perform his plays.” He returned to my side, grasping my hand between his own. He looked somber, his face shadowed, eyes cheerless.

“You’re scaring me.”

He gave me a rueful smile. “The truth is thus: If we do not save Master Will Shakespeare, you will return to a different world.”

I jerked my hand away and shot to my feet. “You said when we arrived here—no, you promised—that I’d return to my school, and I’d go on with my life as usual. You gave me your word.” I couldn’t hide the tremor in my voice.

“Not precisely. I agreed to help you travel back to your century. I never said what you would be traveling back to.” He hesitated before continuing. “Do you recall I said certain limitations and restrictions existed? I cannot control the final outcome, much as I would like to, for your sake as well as Shakespeare’s.”

I walked to the windows, arms folded across my chest, feeling betrayed. It was deep twilight, that dreamlike time between the end of day and beginning of night. And that was where I found myself, somewhere in between … something.

Stephen’s voice was low, regretful. “Then, I had no doubt we would succeed. Now, I am not so sure.”

“I might have to go back to a world completely unknown to me?”

“Not completely. Much of it would be familiar. ’Tis hard to judge exactly what a difference Shakespeare’s work has made in the world. Your mother and father, obviously, would not be engaged in their present work.”

I spun around. “Oh, yes, obviously. I wouldn’t be at the same school, I wouldn’t have the same life at all. And where do you think my parents met? During auditions for
Othello
. Maybe I would never have been born!”

Stephen rose and grabbed my arms. “This is why we must not fail. Do you understand?
We must not fail
.”

I tried to imagine a world without Shakespeare, without the sonnets and the plays. Some of the beauty of life, the grace, would be missing. Some essential piece that defines what it is to be human.

“The world would seem … less radiant without his work. That’s not really the right word, but—”

“I understand.”

“Love would change without Romeo and Juliet. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Power, rage, jealousy—what would they mean without Richard, Lear, Othello?”

“And much charm and lightness would vanish without the comedies.”

“The Taming of the Shrew.”

“Aye.”

“It’s unspeakable.”

“ ’Tis unthinkable.”

“We can’t let it happen.”

“Good. Then we are in agreement. We shall use whatever means we must to prevent Will from following Thomas, and to protect him from Lowry and the sheriff.”

“Absolutely.” But a lump of worry and uncertainty lodged in my stomach. Could we save Shakespeare? And afterward, could I save myself?

S
ATURDAY AFTERNOON
, we held a final practice for the pageant, a dress rehearsal. We were to have music at the beginning and end of the performance, so instruments were brought out and set up in the minstrels’ gallery. Two of the musicians, Fulke and Will, were also in the play. Stephen had agreed to be the third.

I stood with my prompt book offstage, behind a rood screen, an intricately carved wooden piece that had once been in a church, according to Stephen. He was hovering around, putting me on edge. “Don’t you have someplace else to be?” I asked as he stared at the book over my shoulder. After my testy comment, he backed off.

“Will brings this play alive, does he not?” Stephen asked after we’d watched for a while.

I smiled in agreement. Whenever Shakespeare appeared as Noah’s wife, he seemed to energize everyone else. Comical but not farcical, Will let the words convey the humor without overplaying his part. Fulke did a commendable job as Noah, who mostly reacted, first to God and then to his wife. Mrs. Noah is annoyed with him because he didn’t tell her about God’s command to build the ark. She insists she’s going home to be with her family and friends, even after Noah explains that the flood to end all floods is about to happen.

It was funny because of that timeless way men and women bicker with each other. I loved the wife’s stubbornness, and the fact that her major quarrel with Noah was that he didn’t tell her what he’d been up to. I thought a modern audience would laugh too. With this performance, I’d caught another glimpse of Shakespeare’s genius. Will obviously reveled in his role. The play’s success depended on him.

Stephen finally wandered off, but the rehearsal continued.

“Enough,” Thomas said after three hours. “I believe we are ready.”

After dinner, Stephen walked me upstairs. “How did things progress after I took my leave?”

“Thomas seemed off balance. He forgot some of his lines, which he’s never done before. And he hardly even noticed everyone else’s mistakes.”

“What about Shakespeare?”

“We didn’t exchange a word.”

“ ’Tis no matter. At this point, what will be, will be.” We were standing in the passage outside Stephen’s room. He pulled me inside, far enough so that anyone else passing wouldn’t overhear us.

“You sound very calm about the whole thing,” I said.

“Only because I believe we’ve done all we can.”

“Did you, er, make your preparations today?”

His eyes flickered toward mine. “Aye. All is ready.”

I felt that knot in my stomach again. Just thinking about tomorrow and what could happen seemed to bring it on.

He raised my hand to his lips. “Good night, Olivia. Sleep well.”

No way, I thought.